


terrors to light

by treescape



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treescape/pseuds/treescape
Summary: Like the sharp rend of plasma through flesh, he wakes in a single breath. It borders on something beyond pain.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	terrors to light

Somewhere in the slow stretch of dawn, Obi-Wan’s subconscious registers a fact: he is alone. Where it expects the heat of another body pressed against his, there is nothing but fast-fading warmth.

Like the sharp rend of plasma through flesh, he wakes in a single breath. It borders on something beyond pain.

There is barely time to recognize the familiar slide of the sheets as he sits bolt upright, or the smooth sweep of the bedroom wall beside him. In the space it takes him to exhale, the door opens. Nearly blinded in the sudden light, Obi-Wan feels more than sees the man who comes through.

As his eyes quickly adjust, Obi-Wan automatically catalogues every detail, both big and small, a habit so ingrained that it acts as an additional sense. The curve of the floor beneath Qui-Gon’s bare feet. The wisps of hair that escape his night braid. The pale expanse of chest above the slack waistband of his pants. The slight wetness on his lips and the bitter scent of tea, almost indiscernible.

The lightsaber in his hand, unlit but angled for use.

Qui-Gon has been awake for many ten minutes, but he is alert and ready to fight should the cause of Obi-Wan’s sudden terror warrant it.

Obi-Wan’s voice is rough with something other than sleep when he speaks. “A dream,” he says. That is not quite it, but it is as close as he can verbalize in this moment. _A fear. A possibility_.

 _A memory_ , and the scent of scorched wool and flesh in the air around him as as Qui-Gon’s body folds to the ground.

 _An eventuality_ , perhaps, for Obi-Wan knows too well the toll of a Jedi’s life.

It takes only a few strides for Qui-Gon to cover the distance between them, though he moves slowly, as if not to startle Obi-Wan further. He sits on the bed, close enough that Obi-Wan can feel the heat radiate off him. The brush of his fingers on Obi-Wan’s face are a relief.

“You dream of death.” Qui-Gon’s voice is measured, and there is no judgment in it. It is not an accusation, only an invitation to speak should Obi-Wan wish to.

“I dream of _your_ death,” Obi-Wan qualifies without hesitation. He is not ashamed of it. As a child, it would have embarrassed him to admit such a weakness, but he has learned through fire and pain that vulnerability more quickly becomes liability if one cannot face it candidly. He tries to smile. “Not prescient, I think.”

Just an invariable dread that he still knows enough to be cautious of.

For several long moments, Qui-Gon does not respond—at least, not in words. His fingers trace the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheek, and Obi-Wan lets his eyes fall closed, still gritty from the suddenness of his waking. When Qui-Gon moves to comb his fingers through the tangles of Obi-Wan’s hair, curling halfway down his neck, Obi wan lets himself lean forward to press his brow into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

When Qui-Gon finally speaks again, Obi-Wan can feel the words shape themselves into syllables before they ever reach his ears. “You dreamt of my death and awoke alone.”

The truth is, this thing between them is still so new that Obi-Wan would feel no surprise to learn that _it_ had been the dream.

He makes a sound that would seem noncommittal to anyone but this man who is here, in this present, holding him now. He grounds himself in the solidness of Qui-Gon’s body, in the slow rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his heart as it beats in time with his own.

\---

Like the soft glide of silk falling through air, he wakes every morning to the warm press of lips on his shoulder as Qui-Gon whispers his name. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I grew up with these movies but on a recent rewatch I fell head over heels for these space husbands. I'm enjoying exploring some small moments with them.


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